Coil
by mimsy-borogove
Summary: When you break something, however daunting the task may seem, it's your responsibility to put it back together again. AU, inclusive of most of the unfinished Season Two scripts. Chapter 5 is up.
1. Dark house by which once more I stand

_Author's Note: I absolutely HATE to require prerequisite reading before a story, but this fanfiction takes into account most of the scripts for Season Two's unfinished episodes, so it really would help you to be familiar with them before you read it. They are currently available both at "The Scary Monkey Show" website (www thescarymonkeyshow com) under "Cancelled Episodes," and at "Room With a Moose and GIR (www roomwithamoose com) in The Closet under Outlines/Premises. In particular, if you've never read "Ten Minutes to Doom," you'll be lost reading this story (provided you have an idea of what happens in that episode, you should be fine)...my apologies! I was inspired._

_Also, this deviates from the canon at a VERY SPECIFIC point during the aforementioned scripts. Essentially, this is a "What if...?" story. I'll explain everything once I've gotten to the point where I won't be giving away the plot, probably at the end of chapter two. Consider this an experiment, of sorts. And if you're still with me after all that, thanks:)_

_**Disclaimer:** Does anyone really believe that I own "Invader Zim?" What? You DO? Well, out of the airlock with you. Viacom and Jhonen Vasquez do. You fool._

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* * *

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"I wonder where we go when we die?"  
"...Pittsburgh?"  
"You mean, if we're good, or if we're bad?"  
- Calvin and Hobbes, "Calvin and Hobbes"

* * *

There were several pairs of red eyes peering from the shadows and nightmarish patterns of purple light dancing across the lawn, and for the thousandth time in her short life, Zita wished that she knew more about quantum physics.

Now technically, at the tender age of thirteen, she shouldn't have NEEDED to know such things. But it so happened that a nearby University had recently eliminated any courses which did not promise to lead directly to cushy jobs for its students...leaving its bookstore with about three hundred useless texts.

This was why her perennially under funded skool had just received a generous donation. This was also why the first grade at the nearby elementary school was studying Nietzsche and Foucault, while the kindergarteners struggled with Freud's theory of the unconscious.

But most unfortunately, it was the reason that she was here, recoiling from the hideous visions around her, shivering in the dusk. And, worst of all, with HIM.

He'd convinced her to follow him to HIS house that evening at seven for their first secret tutoring session. Anything to prevent anyone else from KNOWING! But now, of course, night had fallen, and things watched them from the darkness. Moving, whirring things from either side of the front walkway. She could feel those eyes on her, following her every move, their gazes wrapping around her throat and SQUEEZING...

But the freak didn't seem to notice.

"It's ridiculous for them to force us to study quantum physics just because they can't afford better textbooks," he babbled, slurring the words as they tumbled uncontrollably from his lips, continuing a conversation she hadn't bothered to pay much attention to. "Especially since focusing on esoteric physics instead could REALLY help me build some sort of time travel device...er, that is to say...not that I'd ever want to do that..." He cleared his throat, trying to stem the flow. "Anyway, I'll get you through."

"Whatever, Dib," Zita ran her hands over a sore muscle in the back of her neck as she walked behind her bespectacled classmate. How much more could the little nerd rant and whine? "Look, thanks for helping me out with skool, and everything. It's just that I don't want to actually TALK to you any more than I absolutely HAVE to, got it? And can we go inside? I don't want anyone to actually SEE us together. If you DON'T MIND."

Dib's back seemed to harden. "Fine. After you."

Despite her annoyance, Zita couldn't shake the paranoid feeling that she shouldn't BE there. It wasn't SAFE.

...what was WRONG with her? As she could see clearly now, they were just lawn gnomes, and they couldn't hurt her. Soon Dib and his weird, glowing green house would be a thing of the distant past. She would just suppress his presence in class, not see him like she'd been doing all this year...push him and the unpleasant thoughts he inspired out of her reality.

"Hey, Dib?" She walked through the door (men's room? But then, her mom had those annoying "Cat X-ing" signs all over the place) he held open for her, trying in vain to erect a barrier of ignorance against her suspicions. "I thought your dad was some kinda bigshot sciencey guy, with his own show and stuff. Why is your house so...small? And...and glowing?"

Dib's glasses reflected the teal light back at her. "This is our...summer home," he began, carefully. "We originally built it for our, er, aunt. She liked...glowing."

Zita coughed. "Where is she now?"

"Um...dead?" Dib fumbled for a light switch, his hands visibly shaking.

"Are you cold, Dib?" She didn't care.

"No, it's just...it's only been a little while. Hard to talk about, you know? She died...suddenly of...brain parasites. Can we not discuss this?" Dib flipped a switch on, thowing harsh light into the room and exposing its many flaws of décor.

"You aunt had terrible taste in interior design," Zita snorted. "She must've been just as WEIRD as the rest of her family. That is the ugliest freaking monkey I've ever seen."

"I appreciate your sensitivity to my situation," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm and undisguised pain. Then his face seemed to soften, and he flushed. "I'm sorry, Zita...I don't want this to be harder than it HAS to be. I know I'll be HURTING you, and I don't...just don't be afraid. I've figured it all out. You'll be fine. And I tried for TWO YEARS to find an alternative. If ONLY there was some other way, if I could POSSIBLY think of some other way..."

"Yeah, well, you're the only one at school who knows about quantum biscuits or whatever, so I've got to put up with you. It just doesn't mean I have to LIKE it." Zita gritted her teeth, and pulled at an earring.

"I'm sorry," Dib mumbled, reaching into his pocket.

"You SHOULD be sorry!" The door was shut behind her. Somehow, it seemed that the entire house had closed in, encircling and holding her. Like something alive...but that was INSANE. Wait, two years...? No, no! Nothing to worry about! Nothing outside of possible social pariah hood, that is, if anyone ever found out about this. "What if Aki, or Jessica, or...or MRS. ELIOT found out about this?"

"...you don't understand." He sighed and, producing what appeared to be a cell phone from the folds of his trench coat, flipped it open and pointed the screen at her. "I'll see you soon, Zita."

"What are you babbling about no-"

There was a flash of blue light. And then nothing.

"I guess you're not smarter than the rest of them."


	2. Here in the long unlovely street

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

Hamlet (I, v, 166-167)

* * *

Towards the end of her stay on Earth, Tak started having headaches.

It was most inconvenient. The device attached to her meat-brain, visible snaking out of her left temple and around her head, allowed her to influence the neural centers of lesser life forms. Unfortunately, its enhancement of her latent abilities had begun to produce nausea and waves of violent, searing pain. It did not function on Irkens, so her long years of training and subsequent shameless, unjust stationing on Planet Dirt had not afforded it much use.

But those weeks disguised as a skoolgoing weenie heiress, with so many pitiful humans to bend and control…

She had begun work on an external model. Without the organic component, it would not be nearly as powerful, of course. But Tak was confident that she could replicate her innate skills. She was, after all, brilliant. She designed it to look like a cell phone, as the filthy meatworms couldn't be without them, anyway. Tak then outlined its basic concept and design, along with certain more specific schematics, to her SIR unit, MiMi.

After she left earth, the design lay encoded within MiMi's memory disk, abandoned, like so many other useful pieces of information, in the depths of Irken Ex-Invader Zim's base.

* * *

Dib closed the device. Zita stood, staring ahead, transfixed. She had the same look on her face that she wore throughout most of the skoolday. A dead, dull look of incomprehension. Dib hadn't even needed to turn the device up to its more intense "Violet: Somewhat Intelligent" setting. The "Blue: Dumb as a Lyk'Slogh" setting had sufficed.

Which, while a bit sad for Zita, was good, in a way…he didn't want to risk injuring her.

"Zita. Follow me."

Dib dug his fingernails into the back of his hand, and breathed in deeply. And coughed; after two years, the whole place still reeked of some sort of lemony-cleanser smell. He supposed he should have been used to it by now.

Dib bit his lip, and led Zita down, through the trash can, into the waiting dark of the underground labs.

* * *

There were many subterranean rooms beneath the glowing green house, lit by stolen power from the clueless neighbors, who had needed to take second and third jobs to support their exorbitant power bills.

This particular chamber was situated around a large, sturdy tube, stretching like sculpted crystal from the floor to the ceiling. Fine blue lines, aflame with crackling energy, traced themselves through it. It was empty inside, filled only with ordinary breathable air, but Zita's face was distorted through its surface; submerged, aquatic.

It was for her own safety. Hers, and his.

"I always knew you were still crazy."

Dib sighed. The subject needed to be awake and cognizant for this, but listening to the derogatory taunting of the child…

No. NO. Not "child." Not "subject." Zita. Her name was Zita.

_It's happened after all. I've been spending too much time here. It happened anyway._

"Zita, PLEASE." Placing a hand to his pained forehead, removing his glasses. "You won't remember any of this. You'll be fine. I PROMISE. I'll even do your homework for the rest of the semester."

"You've been kinda quiet for about, what, I don't know, a year now?" She continued, heedless, not seeming to hear. "So people thought you'd wised up. I figured you'd just worn your vocal cords out, FINALLY, and decided to shut up. But you're still just as crazy and WEIRD as ever. You've always BOTHERED me that way."

Zita was not, he had realized, a horrible person. Rather, she had little to distinguish herself from her peers and was a bit shy; a little insecure. She compensated by doing what she was told and sucking up to her teachers as much as possible, and in return for this and some requisite route memorization, she earned good grades and was very near the top of her class. That was why it had been so easy to tempt her. Academic success was a wish that was within his power to grant.

That was why he had chosen her. That was the ONLY reason.

Still…

"Gee, did I scare you that much, that you had to have me institutionalized for life? That'll teach me to interrupt Zita's all-important relationship with her grade-skool teacher. I was just an easy target, an easy 'A.' I never did anything to you. I always tried to protect you. And," he added under his breath, "It's been TWO years."

Zita's I-just-ate-worms face grew more disgusted. "Institutionalized? What are you TALKING about? I think that giant head is what makes you nuts! It must be full of craziness or something."

Dib flinched. "You don't even REMEMBER, do you? You never even HATED me, Zita. You never cared enough."

She stared at him, blank and innocent. He sighed, trying to calm down. How could he blame her? He had only been on the receiving end of an inevitable situation. There was no bully more vicious than a weak person who had gotten a taste of power, a chance at the upper hand over one still weaker. Dib should know.

"Listen," he said softly, nearly a murmur. "I'm sorry. I'm …I'm not mad at you, Zita. It's okay. That's not what this is about. I'll protect you, I promise, and nothing will happen to you. I won't let him hurt you."

"What are you babbling about now, you freak?"

Dib shut her out; NOW it's time to be clinical, she's a subject from now on. Nothing more. He drifted, eyes half-closed, to a small compartment towards the back of the room. He could find it even without looking.

He opened it with the lightest touch, his bright eyes searching its interior.

This was where he kept Zim.

Dib ran his hand over the surface of the cool, oversized metal egg. He closed his eyes. Sleeping…

He drew it out, wrenching his eyes open, and cradled it against his chest.

She was still shouting. "What are you doing back there?"

"Computer," Dib addressed the ceiling.

"What is it now?" Exasperated, but not nearly as much as it had been, before IT happened...with its...previous master. Still a bit appreciative of him, even.

"Please re-activate and attach this to the…to the specimen." He handed it off gently, almost reluctantly, to one of the extended metal arms. It felt so COLD…

"Um. Right away, Master." 

It…he…disappeared up into the ceiling. And, after a few moments, re-appeared inside of the tube, with Zita. Dib approached her, dragging one foot slowly after the other, eyes fixed on the ground before him. When he spoke, his words were leaden and callous.

"It doesn't hurt. You won't feel anything. Just let it happen. It'll all be over soon."

"What are you…"

The egg glowed above her, and Dib's makeshift seals came undone. Unraveled. IT was ready and waiting now, eager to connect. _The cables don't make any sound as they slide in. You don't even notice…and you don't even feel him at the back of your mind for a few moments before he closes in, overwhelming, overcoming…_

No sound..._  
_

"What the heck is this thing?"

Zita clawed at her back, frowning. Dib moved in closer, face a mask; time to begin.

"Computer, monitor the subject. All scanning processes activate NOW. The Pak, too. Be prepared to disengage at my command."

"Okaaay." The blue lines encircling Zita glowed more brightly, and a fine web of harmless electricity filled the tube. Collecting information. Leaping within like bottled lightening.

"And why have you been talking to the walls?" Zita narrowed her eyes, suspicious at last. "You're gonna do some sorta freaky thing to me, aren't you? One of your weird, paralunatical experimental things. Well, I don't have to stay here and take this from you." Zita pressed both of her hands to the tube's wall slowly, fingers splayed, looking right at Dib. "You're just a crazy weirdo, you ugly, stupid…disgusting…DIB."

His name, said with such utter loathing and revulsion. Like it burned her lips and had to be spit out, before it did further damage. Dib's eyes widened and he stepped forward, anxiously, placing his hands on hers exactly, through the glass. "That's right, Zim…come on…"

Zita looked at him with horror. He face, contorted with hatred a few moments before, lapsed into the countenance of a terrified little girl. She glanced down at Dib's hands and withdrew hers from his, as quickly as if she'd touched a hot stove. "Zim…what are…he used to sit behind me, right? I thought you said he moved to England…is…is THAT what you told them, you filthy earth-monkey?"

Zita clamped her hands over her mouth, then threw herself back against the opposite side of the tube, as far away from Dib as possible, nails scraping against the sides. She flattened herself against the clear alien material, tendrils of blue flame licking her from every direction.

"What's going on, Dib? What…I'm so scared pathetic dirt children…I'll kill you, I'll KILL all you please tell me what's happening!" She gripped her head, and sank to the floor. Sobbing, cringing, curling inward like the frail white mice Dib had been borrowing from his father's lab. That terrified expression; the kind that had wasted so much valuable experimentation time, that hindered his vital research...

"You should relax," Dib's eyes followed hers to the floor. "You won't be able to fight him off for as long as I did."

"Who? Zim? How…how could I allow myself to be trapped among these smelly HUMANS for so long? I'm even starting to SMELL like them…my superior help me, Dib, whatever I did, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…I'll destroy you ALL for this. Just wanted a good grade in class...pathetic, squirmy fools. Thought we would be studying I shall watch you BURN and WRITHE and SUFFER. Mom…!"

More sobbing.

"Mom..."

Dib watched her, still pressed against the glass, as the computer collected information at an unimaginable pace. The blue lightening-web flared, undulated, dissipated, and clotted.

And after a few moments, the crying ceased.

The figure within the tube stood up. She looked around herself, thoroughly lost, obviously confused. After a few moments, her eyes found Dib, and they narrowed to merciless, deadly slits of white and brown.

"Dib."

"Zim." Dib took a step away from the tube, and smiled. "Welcome back."


	3. Doors where my heart was used to beat

"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And when you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you." - Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

When Dib thought about it, he realized that his final, fateful decision had been made due to advice coming from a source countless light-years away. A very, very unreliable source. 

"Oh, yeah, the Irken Pak is a nasty little device," Prisoner 777 had informed him. "It was meant to connect to a brain without any personality of its own, of course. Strictly speaking, it's not 'compatible' with anything that houses a consciousness already, so it overrides and destroys it. Hooks into the brain stem, takes control of the mind, eventually overwriting the host's original personality completely, if the Irken personality so chooses. The creature, in essence, becomes the dead Irken. Pretty HORRIBLE for the host. Unimaginable terror! Hee!"

Dib looked at him skeptically over the communications link, frowning at the screen. Zim's Vortian, erm, "contact" had obviously been a mind of great creative force once, according the computer's records. But, now, he seemed a little...off. "I already KNOW that. First-hand." He winced. "What I want to know is this: is there ANY other way to access the Pak's personality?"

"Oooh, right. Well, let me think. Um, no."

Dib gaped. "NOTHING?"

The Vortian chuckled. "Let me rephrase that. Not that I've ever heard of. Too much security in place. Too much protection, so no one can just go in and have access to 'the whole of Irken knowledge.' They have that downloaded into 'em, ya'know, when they're born. But, hey...in case you do decide to make some kind of hideous sacrifice, you should know that it takes at least an hour for any serious permanent changes to take effect. Until then, the host can be easily restored with the removal of the Pak. Mmyep. Oh," he added as he casually flicked a bit of green goop off of his forehead, "and forget about those test animals you've been using...the brain needs to be capable of housing an INTELLIGENT mind, so to speak."

"Right." Dib sighed. "And, um...the Irken personality. Is it..."

"Never degrades, without interference. Technically immortal." Prisoner 777 tasted some of the goop and made a face. "Blech, this prison food is TERRIBLE. Er, terribly delicious, that is! Nope, everything that he is in there. Everything important. Aside from being dead, your frien..." He seemed to notice Dib's expression. "Your, um, your Zim is just fine."

Dib pushed away from the console a little and drummed his fingers against his forehead. There wasn't much time... "Are you sure about all of this?"

Laughter. "No. Not at all. But keep in mind, I've been locked up here for years and years now, and after all that captivity, I've gone pretty crazy. Whoo!"

Later on, Dib figured that if something went terribly wrong, he'd always have the dire circumstances and a genius alien lunatic to blame.

* * *

"Welcome back from WHERE, human?" 

It's ironic how much of what one uses to identify a person visually pertains to their manner, their habitual expressions, and the way they carry themselves. Actors take advantage of this every day, but it was...disconcerting, to say the least, to see evidence of this in Zita. While nothing (aside from the sinister pink-dotted backpack) had really changed about the way she looked, she was clearly not herself.

Her eyes were narrowed in suspicion and shining with malevolence, and the way she was standing was somehow too purposeful, too formal. Dib had never given it much attention, but the way HE always stood, always walked, was undeniably like a soldier. Dib had been so quick to just think of Zim's background as "an alien" and leave it at that. He hadn't really seriously considered what kind of training he must have had, but it should have been obvious that some of it was military in nature.

Of course, Dib already knew for a fact it HAD been, from the base's computer.

"What are you STARING at, Dibstink?"

Dib shook his head and snapped out of it. Zita usually spoke in a slightly slurred but very chipper tone that he tuned out with relative ease. Her angry hiss DEMANDED his attention now_...but that's because she isn't Zita anymore._ Dib's palms sweat; he felt a smile forming on his face as his thoughts swam with the idea. After two years, she was really...it was really...

"…Zim."

Zim shut...her...eyes in annoyance. "You already SAID that. All right, Earth-filth. I have better things to do than stand here while you...while you...do whatever it is you're doing." She took a step forward...and collided with the glass.

Dib shook his head and grinned.

Zim rubbed her temples and looked around, noticing the lack of an obvious exit from the tube. Suddenly, she shook violently and looked up at Dib. "What is the meaning of this? I DEMAND that you let me out of here!"

Dib tentatively took a step forward, hovering a few inches from the tube. He clutched his hands together so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "I can't."

Zim grimaced, spread her fingers, and slammed her hand against the glass in front of her. "Why not? Is your PRIMITIVE dirt brain too inferior to determine how to...how to..."

She stopped, and looked at her hand.

And wiggled all five of her fingers.

"What...what is this?"

Dib's eyes were glued to the ground. He couldn't bring himself to speak much above a whisper. "Please, Zim. Let me explain. I found you a...I mean, I...I put you in a new body."

"WHAT?"

Dib took a deep breath. This REALLY wasn't coming out right. "Your old one wasn't...isn't working."

"It isn't WORKING? What's THAT supposed to mean? Talk sense to ZIM, human."

"It's not working because…" Dib swallowed, thickly. "You're kind of...look, Zim. Technically, you're..."

_How do you explain to someone that they've been dead for two years? How do you phrase it in a way that will be understood?_

"Your body-shell, Zim. It…expired."

Zim didn't even blink. She just stood there, staring holes through Dib, focusing on something behind him.

Finally, Zim snapped out of it, and scowled. _Anger is the opposite of fear._ He glared at Dib in annoyance.

"Stop your irritating noise-making, dirt creature! That's ridiculous! ZIM is fine. He's just," she wrenched her hand into a tightly clenched fist, then touched her hair with her other hand. "Just sprouting and…smelly?"

She stared at him. She ripped at a clump of violet hair, wincing, staring at the locks that came out in her hand. She glanced down at herself, horror creeping slowly across her face. Finally, she brought one hand up to her nose, touched it, and inhaled, sniffing unpleasantly. Zim paused and looked up at the ceiling, brow furrowed in concentration; she seemed to be listening to something within, and when she spoke her words were uncertain, strange, and far away.

"You humans are so DIGUSTING...you smell terrible, even to yourselves. No wonder..." She reached down and felt at the lobe of Zita's ear, which was pierced through with a tiny gold earring. "No wonder you feel the need to DISFIGURE yourselves so..."

Dib blinked.

A slightly bitter laugh. Zim tapped the earring and grimaced. "How RIDICULOUS. It healed over once. She REMOVED the puncturing-metal and had to WOUND herself a second time. All in the name of your Earth fashions...you pathetic, fragile little worms." Zim ran her fingers along the ear slowly, closing her eyes, a nasty smile playing on her lips. "This ear got INFECTED once, and she cried like a SMEET at the puss and the fluids. It bled and bled and wouldn't heal for WEEKS..."

A chill ran up Dib's spine. _...what? How could he..._ Zim interrupted his half-formed thoughts, locking onto his face again, her eyes slitted, all traces of sadistic humor gone. There was something primal and old and vengeful quivering through her as she spoke...

"WHAT...did...you...do."

"I'm s-" The word caught on Dib's tongue. "Zim, listen. Let me explain."

Zim stepped back, raised both hands, and then THREW herself against the glass in front of front of Dib as hard as possible. The entire tube shook. Her eyes were wide, her teeth clenched. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?"

Dib stumbled back, muttering. "Zim, it was an...an accident. Well, at least at FIRST, it was. Sort of. Torque Smacky...HE really did it. You remember him..."

Zim drew back, brown eyes slowly widening, and then narrowing again. She smiled as disturbingly as Dib could have ever imagined her doing. Zim's madness, if that's what it was, was so much more evident through Zita's innocuous features...like illness seen more clearly beneath pale skin. "Oh, I DO remember."

Dib let out a breath that he'd held too long. "Yeah, he was in class with us. So..."

"I remember 'Foodio' and your wretched FATHER and your baby ghost bees. Mysterious Mysteries, being beaten within an inch of your life by your horrible SISTER...and me." She gripped her head. "Me, me, so much ME that I couldn't untangle us anymore! Couldn't unsnare my mind from YOURS quickly enough to comprehend the situation! Oh, I remember NOW, Dib. I KNOW what you did. You pathetic, stupid, insignificant, troublesome HUMAN!"

Dib fiddled with his scythe, trying to steady himself. _FOCUS, Dib. Focus._ "Um…"

"YOU." Zim pointed at him. "You...stole my ID Pak. You took my life support. My MIND."

Dib sighed, his composure fraying a bit. "Will you just LISTEN? LISTEN to what happened!" _Don't lose your PATIENCE, Dib._ "Zim, it was TORQUE! He hit you with a ball, during skool, and it knocked your Pak off. I had no idea what to do; didn't know it was...YOU. At least, not at first. I figured that I could use it against you, or at least keep it from you. So I took it. You were so angry and I... was scared. I picked it up and...and I just ran..."

"I'll KILL you!" Zim's hands rushed forward again suddenly, her hands colliding with the side of the tube again and again. She was trying to break out. "By the Tallest, I shall remove each layer of your putrid flesh ONE STRIP AT A TIME! Oh, if I could only TOUCH you..." One of her hands, curled again into a little ball of hatred, started to bruise; Dib could hear the bones in her knuckles snapping against the material, could see the muscles rippling...

"COMPUTER! Activate the containment system!" Dib's pulse raced and he stumbled further backwards; so much for keeping everything under control. The fine blue energy curled and lashed into his subject, harmlessly but painfully. Zim cried out, long and agonized, and sank to the floor, vines of light coiling around her and stroking her skin. She drew towards the middle, up on her arms, glaring up at him through mussed purple hair and snarling through her teeth.

"I will take you APART. Slow enough for you to FEEL it, DIB. I'll kill you, I'll kill you..."

"SHUT UP. Shut UP, Zim." Dib couldn't take it anymore. Anger surged through him, and he drew himself up fiercely. "You would have done it to ME. If you'd had an opportunity like that. In a SECOND. You wouldn't have even THOUGHT about it. So YES! Yes, I killed you, you moronic, ugly, awful green alien! I wanted to! You wanted to kill me, too! And," an exhilarated, sharp intake of breath, "it was WONDERFUL. So very WONDEFUL. It was the BEST day of my life."

Dib grinned down at Zim. She watched him, silently, from the floor.

"You got into my mind, Zim, yes. Latched into me and tried to overwrite me; I even lost control of myself, for a little while. You seem to remember that, somehow. But luckily, Gaz knocked your dumb Pak off of me before you could DESTROY me." He snorted. "THAT would have been ironic. Anyway, it just clattered to the floor, like a piece of scrap metal. You...well, your body...it tried to put it on, but it was even more INTENSELY STUPID then usual, and couldn't do it in time. I guess the ten minutes had gone by already; your lifeclock was up. By that point, you couldn't even figure out that it needed to go on your back. So you collapsed to the floor and DIED. Just DIED."

Dib grinned for a moment, his eyes alight with victory. "I killed you. I WON!"

He looked at his prisoner, watching the light wrap around her, his smile falling, his face fading to a mask.

"So I watched you die. And...I didn't know what to DO. My first thought was to just tell my Dad everything, hand both the Pak and your body over to someone, I don't know who," he hesitated to mention the Eyeballs. "But I wasn't sure what I should do; I hadn't thought things through clearly enough. Who should get you? How would I know that I would get credit, privileges...how would I know if I would ever see the fruits of...my work..." He looked at his hands again. "So I took you up to my room. I told my Dad that you had fainted. A 'medical condition' people from your country often suffered from. I told him I would look after my 'friend.'" Dib frowned. "He just accepted it. I doubt Gaz did, but she never cared, anyway. And no one noticed that I had an alien corpse in my closet, either...at least, they never said anything about it. I looked at it every day. Your eyes were still open, but there was nothing in them. Black. Dead. Staring at me. Nothing."

Zim stirred, weakly. "You bore me, human."

Dib smiled down at her. "But the PAK was alive. So YOU weren't dead, not really. I KNEW. And it occurred to me, eventually, that I couldn't very well hand over a dead alien. I mean, what a disappointment! A LIVE alien, who could talk about his culture and his technology and what he's seen...would be so much more impressive than a simple body!" Dib smiled evilly. "So much more INTERESTING; more worthy of media attention and prolonged, well-funded study! You even figured that out in your stupid holo-simulation. So I tried to re-attach the Pak to you. I thought it might REVIVE you, somehow. But...but nothing..."

"How long did you wait?" She almost sounded sarcastic.

"Um, well...two weeks."

Zim shook her head. "BRILLIANT, Dib. What until my cellular structure has already begun to DEGRADE in your PATHETIC Earth atmosphere. The recently dead are one thing; had you done it immediately, it would have worked. But the Pak is not infused with your...magically-Earthy...superstitious nonsense. You can't expect to slap it onto anything and have it spring to LIFE..."

Dib raised an eyebrow. _There's_ _no TIME for this! Remember what's about to happen! Stop dawdling and get down to business!_ "Aren't you even curious as to WHY I brought you back, Zim? Do you think I'd do all of this by MYSELF if I were only concerned with a live specimen instead of a dead one? That I wouldn't ask for help from anyone? I went to a LOT of trouble. I brought your body and your Pak both here, I managed to hack into your system and take control of your computer and...and the entire base. I've been trying EVERYTHING to get them to re-connect or to find some other way of talking to you." He bent over slightly, the exhaustion of the ordeal finally sinking in. "It's been a LONG time, Zim. Two years. I came here every day, for HOURS, not sleeping. I even told my family I'd joined the marching band. Again, Gaz didn't believe me, but she beat me up for being a 'band geek,' anyway."

She didn't look at him, and spoke quietly. "I KNOW why you did it, Dib."

Dib tilted his head, looking nervous. "Oh, really?"

"It's very simple," she grinned. "You're too WEAK. I KNEW you couldn't kill me. You pitiful humans are just...too...WEAK. Pitiful things; even in the simulation, you couldn't do it. With all your 'powers,' you couldn't FINISH it like you should have. A mighty IRKEN would no such compunctions."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm so impressed that your PEOPLE don't mind MURDERING others. But, I already know Irkens have no mercy, or guilt, or any other 'inferior wormbaby emotions,' ZIM. Your...oh, I'm sorry, I mean MY computer has been a wonderful source of information."

Dib ignored the angry glare this earned him, and turned his gaze inwards, frowning. He began cautiously. "You know, your crazy little robot said something to me once. Before you 'died.' It was after we hadn't seen each other in a while...I don't suppose you remember the circumstances?"

"Where IS that HORRIBLE SIR unit, anyway?" Zim said, ignoring the question and glancing around the room, then back in Dib's direction. "I suppose you've dissembled him?" he asked in a tone that could have been concerned, or angry, or relieved, or anything.

"No," Dib looked back at her, trying to read her expression. "He was...well, he was very friendly at first, to tell you the truth. He just wanted a Suck Monkey, so I bought him and that floating moose some freezey slush and taquitoes and they didn't bother me for awhile. But then, well, I guess they must have figured out that I'd done something to you somehow, because they started attacking me. The moose just kind of floated around and squeaked and bumped into me, which was more ANNOYING than anything else, but...his name's GIR, right? Man, Zim, I had NO IDEA he had all those weapons and stuff." Dib wiped his forehead. "Wow. And his eyes started turning red. He was hard to take down, but I eventually DEACTIVATED him...and, um, MINIMOOSE, too. But they're...fine. You can have them back, after…afterwards."

"Ah," Zim looked back at her feet. "Well, I'm certain there's some kind of a POINT to all this? Something you WANT?"

"Well...yes," he admitted, sighing. "I need to stop putting this off. Zim, I need your help. And I'm willing to make a deal with you."

"My help? Doing WHAT? Snapping your feeble neck, crushing your filthy body? Gladly!"

Dib growled at the back of his throat. "I need you to help me save the Earth."

"Heh. I can't believe it, but I actually feel sorry for Zita. My laughter may puncture her lungs."

"Very funny, Zim. Listen, you don't have much of a CHOICE in the matter...and it's not as though you haven't done it before! Besides, if you help me, you'll get your body back. I'll do EVERYHTING in my power to fix yours or SOMEhow get you a new one. You'll be free. You can even work with me, and help me do it. If not...well, there's no way I'm letting you KEEP Zita. She's a jerk, but she's innocent. This is just a temporary fix so that we can communicate. If you'll just agree to it, I can fill you in now, explain what's going on, and then we can figure out another way to talk to each other... "

"Sacrificing your fellow humans for the good of the planet, Dib? Or did her annoying WHINING in class just become too much to STOMACH? Her stupidity too much for your SUPERIOR mind to tolerate?"

Dib shifted uncomfortably. "It was the only way...there's an outside threat, and you're the only one who..."

"Not PERSONAL at all? Not even about the Crazy House for Boys incident?"

"Zim," Dib began dangerously.

"You could've just let me have YOUR body again, after all. And being inside YOU, frankly, would be DELICIOUS, relatively speaking." She tapped delicately between her own eyes. "There's not much in here, you know...the most interesting thing is probably staring at the back of my OWN HEAD for a year. I would actually PREFER having you. But you wouldn't do something so terrible to YOURSELF..."

Dib ignored the pain in his chest and his own growing curiosity; he resolved to try to figure out how Zim had such easy access to Zita's memories later. "I'm afraid that we wouldn't be able to accomplish anything PRODUCTIVE together with you trying to take over my mind."

Zim steepled her fingers in front of her mouth. She grinned. "Point TAKEN. Well, no DEAL." She waved him off dismissively. "I'd rather ROT than help you Earth filthies anymore."

"You don't have a choice, Zim. I didn't want to threaten you, but if I have to, I will." He put his hands against the tube and leaned forward, leveling his gaze at her.

Zim shook her head. "What are you going to do to me, Dibmonster? KILL me? Oh, wait, you already DID that!"

"Listen, space boy," Dib snarled. "If you refuse, I won't just let you rot. I could just rip you apart, like I SHOULD have in the first place, but even that would be more mercy than you deserve, Zim. You're the would-be murderer of my species; you won't get any compassion from me. And I'll FIND a way to make you suffer. I'll pick through your mind, make you FEEL and THINK and BE anything I WANT. The Pak is MINE now, Zim. MY property, my discovery, my specimen! I WON it; I can do ANYTHING I want with it, to it..."

"You...CHILD." Zim dared to approach the side of the tube again, reactivating the containment system in the process. She placed her hands on Dib's through the clear material as her face moved close to his, her nose touching it in front of his lips; blue lightening crackled through her. She trembled and gasped, but didn't fall or retreat. "You inferior, ignorant CHILD!" Zim pointed a shaking hand at her back, her features contorted with pain; he could have SWORN there were tears in her eyes... "This is not your TOY! This is not your POSSESSION! This is EVERYTHING THAT I AM!"

"And what are you going to DO about it? Kill ME?" Dib gasped, and raised a hand to quickly cover his mouth. "But wait! That's right! You're just a tacky-looking little pink EGG, aren't you? How silly of me! You can't THREATEN me. What would you do? Concoct an ingenious and sinister plan to pose as an inconspicuous Earth doorstop, or perhaps, horror of horrors, a paper weight? Or maybe you'll MARKET yourself to kids everywhere as a trendy skool accessory; just part of your MIGHTY plan to become the most powerful backpack in the universe!" He tilted his head back and looked at her derisively. "You're powerless, IRKEN. You're MINE. You have to help me. You've got no choice."

Zim writhed, unable to stand the pain anymore, looking as if she might black out. She stepped out of the interlacing energy, steadied herself, and closed her eyes.

The Pak made a strange, whirring noise. Something high-pitched, an almost screeching sound…._No._ Dib had locked the Pak's "tools" and weapons, obviously, to prevent her from using them…but she must have known something about its inner workings that he didn't. Zim's eyes snapped open and she smiled, sloughing off Dib's precautions easily.

The spider legs unfolded awkwardly in the small container. They bent and twitched and scraped against the sides, the sharp tips curling in towards Zita's small body like cat's claws. The Pak held her, the girl smiled, and as a leg moved towards her Dib wondered briefly why he'd never found himself impaled on one of those talons…

"Dib. You should never have placed her in here with me."

Zim closed her eyes as the tip began to dig into her neck. Dib stared for a few shocked seconds too long as the blood began to flow from where it pressed into the pale skin, running down her neck and soaking her dress…

"…SHIT." Dib looked up frantically. "COMPUTER! Disengage! Now, NOW!"

"Yes, Master. FINALLY." The computer reached down with its tendrils, wrapping deftly through the legs and grabbing hold of the Pak; reaching into and securing it. It wrenched the Pak out and off with a sickening snap, the legs retreating in a flash as it did so. Zita screamed angrily; then her expression flattened. Her eyes opened, glanced frantically around the room, and rolled back into her head. The girl's body convulsed violently as she collapsed against the tube, her skull cracking back against one of the sides before she slid, finally, into a puddle on the floor. Dib pressed a button that raised the tube up into the ceiling and ran towards her, almost tripping over himself in his rush to do so.

"Zita!" Dib crouched down and gathered her up into his arms. He bit his lip as he gazed down into her face. _Still breathing. _

"Computer, run a scan on Zita!"

It obeyed, and displayed a summary of her condition on a holographic screen in front of him. He sighed with relief; she had a shallow neck wound and her head looked a little bruised, but aside from that and a few other minor, easily-healed injuries, she was fine. Dib looked away from her and back at the ceiling.

"Computer, is Zim…is the Pak okay?"

"Analyzing."

"Hurry up," Dib snapped. "And be CAREFUL with it!"

"All riiight. Relaaax. It's fine, Master. Sheesh."

Dib collapsed backwards father onto the floor, still clutching Zita in his arms. As he examined her neck, he reflected, sullenly, that he couldn't really blame Zim for what he had said, or what he had tried to do.

He would fix this. He HAD to. And if the girl was unusable now, well…

There were always other bodies.


	4. So quickly, waiting for a hand

"As you may have already guessed, this is a trap. You're really one of the only people who can appreciate the amazingness of this plan, so I'll let you in on what it is. Actually, I'll let you see." - Zim

* * *

_There's not much time left before they get here. But he'll help me. I know he will. We've done this before, together. I need…_

_He'll have to help me._

On Monday, Dib and Gaz walked to skool together, like they always did.

Gaz, Dib reflected, had always been astonishingly willing to tag along silently next to him, despite her adamant hatred of him and nearly everything else in the universe. For a time, he'd even comforted himself with the thought that perhaps he was somehow less loathsome to her than most people; if he couldn't share a brotherly connection to her, he could at least think of himself as a more tolerable backdrop than her alternatives.

Over the past two years, however, with certain...distractions absent, Dib had made the mistake of attempting to pay more attention to her. There had been occasional forced conversations, some hopeful smiles and recollections of shared family memories (unpleasant as they were), and questions about her new video games.

These were still met more often than not with a low growl. If Dib was lucky, he might receive an icy silence that he could try to interpret as a mildly positive sign. He imagined at such times that perhaps, finally, she was warming up to him.

When he was little, Dib used to pretend he was a famed paranormalist super genius President with psychic powers and super strength. That illusion hadn't lasted very long, either.

When Dib left Gaz to go to his first class, she stopped squinting long enough to betray bloodshot eyes. Her Gameslave had apparently lost some of its appeal over the past year, because Gaz, always attuned to gamer geek trends, now spent most of her free time playing online. This would seem to require an unacceptable level of actual human interaction with the other players on her teams who text-messaged each other, but from what Dib had seen over her shoulder (before being backhanded halfway across the room), she managed to curtail this by speaking strictly about strategy in the most cold, technical terms possible, and then only when absolutely necessary.

The equally-obsessive kids somewhere on the other side of the screen probably only tolerated this because Gaz, frankly, was the best. When someone was on her team, nothing could stop them. Until Gaz inevitably annihilated them to gain a level or two, anyway.

"Another long night playing World of War-torn Medieval Bloody Deathbeasts, Gaz?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Another long night at 'marching band practice' on Friday, Dib?" she answered, not looking up from her strategy book.

Dib glanced around at the other students, trying to steady his voice. "Yes. We have a big game this weekend, you know."

"Hmm. Gee, it's funny how I never see you at pep rallies."

Dib smiled nervously, and spoke to her through gritted teeth. "I'm in the percussion section. We stand towards the back of the group."

She snorted. "What are you, the bass drum? Your head is huge and empty enough." She flipped casually through the pages. He glared down at her.

"Gaz. You won't tell Dad..." His sister raised a hand towards his face.

"Dib. Don't insult me. Look, we won't have any problems if you'll just remember two things. One, I know what you've been up to. And two, I don't care."

Gaz walked away without looking at him once.

Two years ago, when Dib had escaped with the Pak to his father's lab, Gaz had shown up, chasing him, with Zim in tow. After dismissing the silly idea that she'd meant to save him by knocking the Pak off, Dib briefly wondered if perhaps she'd actually taken pity on Zim, and attempted to save_ him_. Rather than the sting of betrayal he might have expected, Dib found himself feeling curiously warm towards her over this possibility.

The notion quickly disappeared when he found Gaz's Gameslave in Zim's pocket, and figured out what had happened.

Gaz never asked Dib about the game. Perhaps she'd eventually realized that Zim had tricked her. In fact, by this point, she must have seen the game sitting in plain sight on the desk in Dib's room. But she'd never mentioned it, never taken it. She just bought a new one.

Dib thought he'd noticed her staring at it once, after she'd ordered him to join her and their father for Bloaty's Pizza Night.

It might have been his imagination.

* * *

**6. You run an orphanage and have had a hard time making ends meet. A car dealership offers you a new van worth 15,000 for free if you will falsely report to the government that the dealership donated a van worth 30,000. You really need the van and it will give you an opportunity to make the children happy. Do you agree to take the van?**

In the class period before lunch, Dib's group was supposed to be discussing ethical dilemmas, but the conversation had quickly drifted, as it always did, towards the upcoming football game, lifting and punching things, and the top ten hottest girls in class. Dib skulked off to one side, his desk shifted slightly away from the rest of the group, the only one actually doing the work. As always.

Dib wasn't quite the social pariah he'd been back when he spent every day screaming about aliens. Nor did he currently have the notoriety and dubious fame of being one of the class "freaks." Now, he was merely…invisible. It was times like this that he wondered if he'd ever be able to fake interest in the other students' trivial concerns enough to become anything else. Times like this when he wondered if he wanted to.

He'd once thought that getting grouped with mostly girls would be more tolerable, but discussions about hair care and zits weren't much better.

Mrs. Elliot stood in front of the room, as chipper and steadfastly optimistic in teaching style as her husband. She tried to explain, in cheerful terms, the choices that Raskolnikov had made in "Crime and Punishment," suggesting that Dostoevsky's examinations of morality might be helpful. But "Ethics 250" was probably not an appropriate class for middle-skoolers. At least, not these middle-skoolers.

"Yeah, Jessica's really...a girl, I think," Torque admitted. "What about that Zita? Man, has she got hair."

"Maybe she's got hair, but Zita's definitely lame," Chunk grunted. "I've heard she can write. I think I saw her holding a book once, too." His eyes traveled across the room. "Hey, look at her, over there! With a paper and pencil. And a book. I'll bet she's writing, and using the book somehow."

"Aw, well. She's still got hair," Torque concluded.

Dib glanced surreptiously over at Zita. He hadn't spoken to her all day, but she seemed to be suffering no ill effects from the past weekend's events. Even her neck wound was gone.

Fortunately, Zim's base had equipment that had been specifically used before to heal and hide injuries sustained by _humans_. Dib knew why, as he had freed all of Zim's tormented test subjects from the base when he first took control of it. Seeing the horrible state of his fellow humans, one of whom had some sort of gigantic probe inserted directly into his brain (and was perhaps irreparably insane as a result), had given Dib several months' worth of nightmares and caused him to consider destroying the Pak immediately.

Partially due to the fact that he'd been sitting on his own bed, surrounded by his own crude drawings of ghosts, sasquatches, aliens, and various other creatures undergoing horrible experiments as he pondered this course of action, Dib had decided against it.

Zita, amazingly, looked like she had serious thoughts of her own plaguing her. She was focused intently on the book in front of her, and scribbling something down.

Dib had a brief, dreamy vision of those eyes turned towards him, accusing. _I know what you did..._

Maybe it would delay things. Maybe it would make things more complicated.

But he couldn't use Zita again.

After class, he wandered over towards her.

"Hey, Zita," he began quietly. "Don't forget, I promised to do your homework for you today. Just to...help you make a dent in your Quantum Physics…stuff."

Zita looked up. For a second, Dib's heart froze in his chest. But she just grinned, broadly. "Oh, that's okay, Dib. Thanks and all, but I already finished it. I've been working ahead in the book. I guess your freaky tutoring really paid off, huh? Maybe you're good for something, after all." She laughed, holding up the paper she'd been working on. "It's really making sense now, ya'know?"

Dib shook his head, and glanced down at her work. "Is that a Hamilton-Jacobi equation?"

She nodded. He blinked. "But...but I didn't do that! To you! I mean..."

"Oh, don't be so modest." Zita leaned in towards him. "Actually, I wouldn't mind coming over to your house again on Wednesday. I've got to keep up, ya'know? So we'll do it," she concluded, not concerned with a securing a confirmation from him. She gathered her books together, and stood up.

"Sorry, Dib, I've got to run. I'll see you Wednesday. Well," she backed towards the door, glancing around nervously, "I don't want the other wormbabies to see us talking."

Dib watched her go. He closed his eyes, but opened them when he saw a face that was Zita's, but not Zita's.

And then stood there, silently, for about ten minutes after class had ended, staring at the blackboard.

On it, Mrs. Elliot had written down an ethical dilemma she had often considered herself.

Her two children, her only children, trapped in a car. The car was burning, but she only had time to save one of them. One would live, and one would die.

Who would she choose? The older one, because he had a more developed personality, and clearly defined ambitions? The younger one, because she hadn't had the chance to live as long? The one likely to have the most fulfilling life? How could you determine that; who was she to determine that?

And was intellect the only way to decide? Was it ever right to go with your heart?

_Dad would pick Gaz._

In the end, though, Dib really shouldn't have felt badly, knowing that. After all, the parent had nothing against the unchosen child. There was no wish to cause them harm. What it came down to, really, was a matter of sacrifice. But it wasn't an impersonal and cold matter, either.

There was somebody else who meant more. Somebody else who, for whatever reason, was more important.

Dib started, mentally, to plan for Wednesday.

From this point on, there was no turning back.

He and Gaz exchanged no words as they walked home from skool that day. She drifted behind him, always, staying near him for the same reason that a person in a theater might sit next to a stranger.

To avoid the vulnerability of being alone.

* * *

_Author's Notes: I wanted to avoid having **any** more author's notes, to tell you the truth. So much for that. I'll try to keep them few and far between._

_First of all, it's probably blatantly obvious by now, but this deviates from canon at the end of "Ten Minutes to Doom." Some readers might not know the story, so I thought I'd relate it here. When "Invader Zim" was cancelled, the staff, who by that point were having a...um, a less-then-pleasant experience working on the show (and, in some cases, apparently weren't entirely sad to see it end), wanted to change the ending of the TMtD script so that Zim didn't put the Pak back on in time and died, and to be allowed to make it as a finale. It would've provided some closure to the series. This story basically came from my wondering, "I wonder what fanfiction for the series would be like if THAT had happened?" And, for better or for worse, this is the result. I need to stop all that thinkin'._

_Actually, my original plan was to have an AU where Dib didn't take the Pak off in time, which would have been a cooler/creepier ending. But, well...you'll just have to see._

_Incidentally, I'm not one of those people who wishes that they had been, "allowed to end the series this way." Don't get me started on slapped-together endings, or killing off major characters in a comedy cartoon show. Nobody wants to hear my Maude Flanders rant again._

_Meh, okay, this section got cut out the first time in quick edit, so I would like to give a special thanks to all of my reviewers, for this or my other stories. I appreciate every single review VERY MUCH. You have no idea. Actually, the reviews are probably one of the reasons I'm still writing this. Not the only reason, but they mean a lot to me. Thank you so much. Once I actually get my profile up, I'd love to thank everyone by name, if no one minds._

_I'm really sorry that chapters for this have taken so long to come out. Unfortunately, real life keeps me very, very busy, and a lot of other things (school, hobbies, actually having a social life, the usual) come first. The tacit agreement between fanfiction writers and readers, I guess. 'Tis our lot. Or something. My apologies._

_I'm also sorry because this chapter is much, much shorter than it was originally supposed to be. It got split into two parts thanks to theme/length. So this is unfortunately just set-up/filler. The next chapter will be longer, and yes, **I actually promise to answer all of the questions** that you might have in that one. Really. Honest. Put down those pitchforks! Please. I have toilet children..._

_There will be some creepiness/violence in future chapters...sheesh, I don't know if that's a warning, or an advertisement. Thanks again to everyone for reading._


	5. A hand that can be clasped no more

_A/N: "This just in: recently the species _sus scrofa_, a kind of feral pig, was found, through a series of mutations, to have developed elaborate wings throughout the course of the past few years. Experts speculated that short flights may be possible for the species..."_

_ I finally updated. I can only hope I've set some sort of record._

_...except I haven't, because authors who haven't updated in months or years suddenly adding chapters seems to be the norm in this section, especially recently. Again, I am sorry._

_You probably know the drill: life, busy, blah blah blah. I'll add to that that I have more or less lost interest in this series, as have a lot of people, temporarily or permantly. Considering that it was a wacky cartoon that only lasted a seaon and a half, and ended some time ago, that's not really very surprising. _

_Still, people continue to write (more rarely now, but it happens a fair amount) awesome stuff that continues to draw me back here. I would like to thank all of my reviewers, because again, it is mostly because of you and my readers in general that I am going to try to finish this, no matter how long it may take (and just in case a few of you haven't moved on completely from the show yet). Thanks also to all of the other great authors in the section for your inspiration. _

_Um. This chapter is lighter in tone and more exposition-heavy than I'd like, but I felt I kind of had to deal with it. Not really a fun chapter to write for me, but oh, well. If I manage to finish this, it does get darker and more serious/interesting later. I hope you enjoy this anyway, and I would like to dedicate this chapter to Larry and Bill, the two remaining "Invader Zim" fans out there. I love you guys!_

_

* * *

_"It is known that there is an infinite number of worlds, simply because there is an infinite amount of space for them to be in. However, not every one of them is inhabited. Therefore, there must be a finite number of inhabited worlds. Any finite number divided by infinity is as near to nothing as makes no odds, so the average population of all the planets in the universe can be said to be zero.

From this it follows that the population of the universe is also zero, and that any people you may meet from time to time are merely the product of a deranged imagination."_ --- The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy  
_

* * *

Trigonometry, algebra, physics, quantum mechanics. Each field has a language and a heritage of its own. Richness, depth, color, poetry. Even an antipodean sense of the sacred. Fermi-Dirac, Maxwell-Boltzmann, Bose-Einstein. Bosons, photons, partition function. Energy state i. F equals m X a, v2 equals u2+2as, F equals -(Gm1m2)/r2. T equals 2π√(R3/GM). 

For so very long, these may as well have been an alien language. A cacophony of frustration and confusion. But within the past few days, the jumbled squiggles and doodles had shifted into focus. The blurred lines were now crystal clear.

When she was young, she had been prescribed contact lenses for farsightedness. This was very much like the first hours wearing them had been. While there was always a sense of something being…wrong, something fluttering beyond her reach…it was nothing compared to the utter blindness of her former "vision" in retrospect.

Suddenly, she looked at the words, and effortlessly, _beautifully_…she understood them.

For the first time in her life, Zita could _see_.

* * *

The schism was simply less pronounced this time. The contrast less marked. 

Considering the zeal she'd shown when she arrived at the door that Wednesday; the hyper, unbridled enthusiasm...she may as well have been dragging a horribly disguised green puppy along behind her.

On the bright side, this made it considerably easier for him to zap her mind into oblivion while he restrained her and lodged a parasitic alien backpack into her brain.

She seemed so excited that he could almost pretend she was looking forward to it. Heck, the Pak…is looked almost…natural on her now.

...well, okay, not really. It was still horribly tacky and cheap-looking, with its inane little pink polka dots. And, well, it still housed an ancient alien consciousness that could summon horrible, insecticide limbs from its shell at the merest whim. Yeah, pretty hard to reconcile that with Zita's typical wardrobe.

Still, although an Irken Pak wasn't the best compliment to lime-colored, glow-in-the-dark sunglasses and a sky blue "Hello Chinchilla!" sundress, Dib could almost imagine for a moment that it...was. That it really belonged, and his actions were a simple obligation to return something to its proper place. This temporary comfort didn't make Dib feel any better in the long run. Actually, the fact that it had occurred at all made him feel a heck of a lot worse. As if it was possible to feel more terrible about what he was doing to Zita.

What did make Dib feel better, frankly, were the security measures he'd established to assure that his prisoner...subject...whatever...remained under his control this time. To this end, long, robotic arms twisted and undulated like snakes behind….her (_no_, **_him_**, Dib corrected himself; t_he straight antennae on Zim's discarded body-shell demonstrate that indeed he is a male Irken, as much as that even matters to his kind…which seems to be hardly at all_). They glinted silently, following his every moment, prepared to extract their former master from his distasteful new meat-husk at a moment's notice.

Zim scowled up at the ceiling as he tested them, leaning and hopping comically, taking steps to each side as they moved in accordance with his movements, possibly trying to determine some sort of weakness in their tracking system.

And…obviously not finding one.

"Traitor!" Zim shook his fist at the ceiling, finally frustrated beyond the ability to control himself and, for the time, out of escape ideas. "Verminous, filthy machine! Abandoning your master at the earliest fortuity! You make Zim sick, you hear me? Sick! Augh! I could wretch right here in the lab! All because of your idiotic treacherous…ness… ness!"

The computer answered him with silence, although Dib somehow imagined that he could hear it grumbling under its mechanical breath. Shaking his head, he continued tapping away at a console towards the middle of the room. Now where was that file...

"Your insidious circuitry isn't worthy of being torn apart and, er, distributed at the bottom of a...a box of P'nortian Nacho Puffs!" Zim stopped, amazingly, for a breath here; perhaps Zita's "pitiful" human lungs just weren't capable of the sustained volume and levels of obnoxiousness that his superior Irken squeedlyspooch could produce.

...ah, there it was.

"I..." The computer didn't get a chance to finish.

"Chocolate Tabasco Squid Nacho Puffs, at that! And boy, they had to give those things away!" Zim breathed out, and coughed a little.

"I'm ignoring you, you know."

"Eh?"

"I mean...what do you think you're going to do, get me to feel bad? It's not as though I have any choice. He reprogrammed me. For crying out loud, Zim. I'm a computer."

_Although_, Dib thought dully, only vaguely listening to them, _isn't Zim, too? Albeit, the most advanced AI I could ever possibly have imagined, that I'll probably ever see…well, in some ways, anyway._

"No excuses!" Zim trembled and squinted before slumping forward, looking tired. Zita apparently hadn't eaten her Whammo Munchies that morning.

Dib just rolled his eyes. "Will you two be quiet! I'm trying to pull up some information."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dib. Are we _annoying_ you? Hey, you know what's _annoying_?"

Oh, boy. Here we go.

"Being, I don't know, ripped out of your perfectly suitable Irken body-shell and installed into a squirmy...little...dainty…_pretty_ piece of Earth refuse, which is stupid and smelly and slimy and inferior and," Zim looked down at his side, "and carrying some kind of stupid little pouch which has a picture of a little yellow flower on it._ Little yellow flower_, Dib. Little. Yellow. Flower."

"It's called a purse, Zim." Dib opened a file, not even bothering to look over his shoulder. "Girls carry them all the time. And, well...I guess a few guys probably do, too."

"It would be one thing if she had something useful in the moronic containment unit, like, oh, a kellzonian scanner, or at least a small, sharp instrument." Zim turned the purse inside out and emptied some of its contents onto the floor, while picking through the rest, including a few items in wrappers that were just as flowery and pink as everything else Zita carried with her. "It's not as though I could kill you with...say, what are these wrapped, tube-like thingies, anyway?"

"Zim..." Dib glanced back, flushed slightly, and rushed over to him. "Zim...stop messing with Zita's stuff!"

"Wait...no," Zim screamed, and dropped one as suddenly as if it had been made of water. His head tilted to the side, and he made one of the most hideous faces Dib could imagine. "Putrid earth-spore memories! Ugh! That's...that's disgusting! You...you and your slimy, inefficient, Earth monkey body-shells!" Zim rubbed at his eyes, and glared down at Dib, who was trying frantically to gather Zita's belongings and stuff them into her purse.

"Miserable earth child," he reached down towards Dib, "And with any luck, you've already disposed of my original one…"

Dib shrank back for a moment as the purple-haired girl/murderous Irken loomed over him, and sighed with relief when one of the robo-arms administered a painful electric jolt to its charge. Zim shook and recoiled, temporarily stunned, and predictably, more angry then ever.

"You know," Dib sighed, "we're down to forty-five minutes, already. How much more of our time do you want to waste?"

"Not...not a second more," Zim cringed, shock off the shock and the pain, and hugged himself. "Not a second more, even contemplating helping you with your ridiculous little apocalyptic concerns. What nonsense. It's gone, I'm sure. You've dealt with it already. I don't care who deals with all of you or _how_, provided it's as painfully as possible."

"I have your 'body-shell,' Zim. And I'll give it back to you, if you help me with my 'little' concerns. That's a promise." _If I don't lose my patience with you, and turn that Pak of yours into scrap metal first, that is._

"Hah! Because it's not like you would ever...I don't know...perform a stabbing action while Zim is facing the other way! Leave him to, you know, rot. No, that's never happened before, no way. Nnuh-mnn."

Dib grimaced. "Fine. I get it. Fair enough. I'll show it to you, to prove I'm not lying. Computer!"

"What now?"

"Show Zim his dumb old body, already."

The computer groaned. "Well, this should be interesting, anyway."

One of the room's walls slid apart like a puzzle cube. A glass tube slid out, filled with a faintly glowing, preservative pink liquid. And something less pleasant.

Inside the tube, a hunched, limp figure was just barely visible. Floating peacefully.

Obviously dead.

Zim's eyes widened. Forgetting the arms completely, he dashed towards the tube. The computer let him go, with a light shrug of its coils.

Zim slowed as he approached the glass. He stared at the floor for a few minutes before slowly looking up, either tightly controlling his emotions or…possibly not experiencing any as he did.

He examined the tube for a moment, and began muttering something about Dib's incompetent storage methods under his breath, before inching towards it.

Finally, he reached towards the glass, pressing the tips of his five fingers gingerly against it.

The Irken stared through its surface, his free fist clenched in annoyance and rage. Through the transparent face of the bewildered thirteen-year-old school student in a blue sundress that looked back at him.

And into the dead, dull, blood red eyes that gazed out. Staring through the girl's eyes. Both sets just...staring. Dead. Nothing in them.

"Amazing..."

Dib's palms began to sweat again, and the cold lump that had surfaced on several occasions throughout these past two years returned to his stomach. Again, he realized at the back of his mind that he was, and had been, letting precious seconds slip away. But something...scientific interest?...compelled him to move closer to Zim. Something else made his throat dry, his voice soft, and his vision blurry.

"Zim...?"

Zim pushed away from the tube, snorting and folding his arms. "Amazing. To think that this...husk...continued to function for a full ten minutes before finally collapsing into its natural state. Fading into nothingness. Desperately believing that it was Irken Invader Zim. A brilliant, efficient thing, to be sure...but can you imagine it, thinking it was me?" He chuckled softy.

Dib blinked. "Er. Not sure I follow you there."

"Empty shells...that's all the host bodies are." Zim frowned, focusing intently on it. "None of the irritating, interfering consciousness that a human shell has on its own. Empty of…you humans might call it a 'soul,' but only because you are pathetic, ignorant creatures. However, there is an...echo, of sorts, that remains within our bodies, coursing through their meatbrains, for about ten minutes before their inevitable dissolution. In case of maintenance or emergencies."

"An echo?" Dib stammered. "But...your body...it could create new memories. It figured out what had happened."

Zim sighed. "Of course it could create new memories, earthstink. For as long as the imprint lingers, the secondary brain will continue to function and grow, collecting vital information neccessary for its eventual re-conection with the Pak. And all that knowledge from the meatbrain would have been intergrated into me, if it hadn't been for some large-headed, moronic, pointy-haired..."

"I get it, I get it!"

"Well. Anyway, it's too late for that now. Although I do admire its courage, sticking it out until the very end, as it did. Truly worthy of the emergency-or-maintenence back-up meatbrain personality echo of _ZIM_!"

"Yeah, that's great, Zim. Look, I showed you your body. Can we please get on with, you know, saving the earth?" Something tickled at the edge of Dib's brain, urging him to think about the echo. _Could something similiar stay inside a human brain?_ But frankly, the inner workings of the Pak, and the subtleties of its interaction with a human host, fascinating though they were, paled in importance compared to the end of all life as Dib knew it.

Especially considering that, according to his best guess, neither of them would be alive to discuss the matter if they didn't do something soon.

Zim, still staring at his own corpse, gave Dib a slight nod.

Dib walked back to the console, and hit a button.

"It all started a little less than a year ago, when I monitored an alien craft headed towards the Earth. Naturally, I assumed that it was an Irken vessel at first, but the NASA place feeds showed something I had never seen before. I tried to idenitify it, but I was still having some trouble gaining full access to your computer, which is...some of the files are...well. I don't know how to say this, Zim, but parts of your system are...kind of, " he coughed, "not good."

Zim shot Dib a very dirty look at this suggestion, which was Dib's cue to babble on as quickly as possible.

"...Anyway, I didn't think much of it at first. I mean, you know how it is, Zim. How many loser aliens stop by Earth to stock up on wombats for study, steal cable from us, or pick up a school counselor or two? But the same ship...it kept coming back. And that's when I started to get worried. And then, two months ago, something happened. I picked up some strange readings a few blocks from here, and…well, you'll see. Computer," he addressed the ceiling sharply, "run video file Dib: #6574897."

Within seconds, a short, scratchy clip played in the very air before them; shot from an aerial view of the city, evidently using one of the base's cameras.

At first, everything was calm. But after a few moments, in a flash of green light, a few of the houses were simply...gone. No screams. No wreckage. No sign of an attack. Nothing but empty lots.

"Eh?"

"Yeah, weird, huh? The entire block just disspeared. Of course, nobody really noticed...according to the news, everybody who lived there decided to suddenly go 'on vacation'," Dub muttered bitterly. "And I can't tell if that incident was definitely related to the ships, but a few hours later, I detected several in our solar system. And lately...more and more of them have come. More frequent visits. More headed towards us. I even asked a...friend...of yours about it, but he just started screaming incoherently every time I mentioned what I'd seen. Saying that they would kill us all. Although he also screamed about that when I asked him what he had eaten for dinner that evening, or what the weather was like where he was, so I'm not sure how reliable he is anymore.

"But basically, I still have no idea who they are, or what they want with us. But I'm pretty sure it's something bad...really bad. End-of-the-word bad, from what little I've picked up. All those people..."

Zim squinted an eye, appearing confused as to whether he should be amused by the possible loss of human life, or simply...confused. After a moment, he frowned and looked at the ceiling. "Computer, run footage through digital filter #9813."

Of course, there was no response.

Zim growled. "Computer! Run footage through digital filter..."

"La la la, not listening!"

"_Computer_!"

Dib sighed. "Computer, go ahead."

"All right, all right." The video looped back, and played again.

Again, the same ship, the same city block. The image now was vaguely blue, obviously having been run through some sort of Irken detection process. And this time, the houses looked...wrong. There was something there, an odd shape. This time, it was obvious that the block was surrounded by a...a...

A shimmering something. Almost imperceptible. And that's when Dib realized what it was.

It was a screen. A highly advanced projection device, of some kind. The houses at the beginning of the clip...

They weren't even real.

After a few moments, the screen dissolved. Something lightening fast, something already invisible and now almost impossible to see because of its velocity, darted up from the empty blocks and into the atmosphere.

"Um. What the heck?" Dib was still just as lost as before…but Zim, for a change, didn't seem to be.

Zim put a hand to his moth, obviously trying very hard to control his laughter. " I wouldn't worry about it. They weren't destroying anything, Dib-filth. Not in the video, anyway. They were just here to collect what they'd left. Probably their base."

"Their base?"

"Yes. It's rare that they bother to come to a planet's surface, but when they do, they sometimes demolish a few blocks here and there and take on the identities of the people who used to live there while they gather information. Those buildings were long gone, and the people who lived in them most likely long dead, before you even realized that anything unusual was going on." He rubbed his chin. "I wonder how long they'd been here? Or what they're bothering with? Or how they found out that I'd tricked them? Oh, well, who cares." Zim shrugged, and went back to pulling strands of his offending hair out.

Dib lunged forward suddenly, grabbing Zim's frail shoulders.

"What...hey!"

"Who are they, ZIM?"

"Hands off, Dibworm!" Zim struggled weakly, but to no avail. He flailed, succeeding only at smacking Dib in the face and getting himself shocked viciously a few times for his efforts.

"Tell me! Tell me, or I swear I'll..." Dib breathed out sharply. "I knew it. I knew you'd know. The computer's system is faulty, old. It's missing the files it needed, now. They've degraded beyond repair. All it could remember was that it had seen those ships somewhere before. That the Irkens had dealt with them before. That the aliens we were dealing with had attacked Earth before. And," he continued, his dark eyes narrowing to slits, "that you had saved us from them."

Zim grinned, eyes widening maniacally. "Yes, yes! I had nearly forgotten! That little matter where all of your worthless meat bodies would have sizzled like...like grilled sasuaged-dog meat...on the surface of an alien sun long ago if I hadn't helped you! Not to mention the nasty business of hauling you all back to your own stinking solar system. Heh, heh...funny, isn't it?"

Dib let Zim go as he shoved him away. "Yeah. Funny how you only saved us so that you could slaughter us all by yourself."

"Well, true." Zim brushed himself off.

Dib rubbed his forehead. "How insensitive of me, not to thank you."

"Yes. Yes it was."

"Zim..."

"The Vreedzaam, by the way."

"The what?"

"The race that attacked you. The Vreedzaam. Nasty, stupid, filthy race. Much like yours, actually. Although that's just what they call themselves. Ever since their sun started to die, the almighty Irken Empire has referred to them as the Planet Jackers."

"Okay," Dib nodded, running his fingers through his hair. "Um, I think I can take a wild guess at their M.O. So why do they steal planets?"

Zim straightened his sundress, and struck a haughty pose. "Do you know what will happen, Dib, to your puny sun in about five billion of your Earth-years? How your pathetic species of crawling larval crawlies will eventually choke, sputter, and die, no matter what any of you insignificant dirt-pigs do?"

Dib rolled his eyes. "Duh, Zim. It'll start to die. I know about all that 'life-and-death-of-stars' stuff already. Minus the 'crawling earth-pigs choking and dying on their own spit' part. Because of course," he added dryly, "we don't plan to be here when it happens."

"Oh, believe me, Dib, I'm comfortably certain that you won't be. Anyway, you've probably never seen it happen," he continued. "The sun will exhaust its core supply of hydrogen, blah blah blah, helium converts to carbon, blah blah, _boom!_ space nebula, blah blah blah, everbody dies a fiery, toasty delicious death."

"Of course," Dib said skeptically, "that takes billions of years, so you couldn't have seen it happen..."

"Stop-motion photography. But that's your sun. Smaller stars...I think you humans call them Crimson Midgets or something...don't have the luxury of burning DOOM and searing annihilation. Eventually, they just sort of...wink out." He clenched one of his hands into a fist, and then opened it. "Poof!"

"So the Planet Jackers live around a Red Dwarf...wow!" Dib grinned. "No one was sure whether that was possible or not. But what's the problem? There's no way their planet could be dying...they last for...uh…a really long time!"

"The universe is far older than you seem to think it is."

_Hey, it was Zim who turned out to be so boring, after all...granted, his lecture seemed appropriate coming from the evil me-bot, at the time._ "Great. So why _do_ they steal planets?"

"Oh, yeah," Zim mused, rocking back on his feet. "Well, they were throwing them into their dying sun. Yep."

"Why?"

"To keep it alive."

"...that doesn't make any sense."

"Eh? No, it doesn't," Zim said, chuckling to himself again. "But they sure bought it when Tallest Spork told them it would work! Stupid, stupid Planet Jackers!"

Dib's eyebrows furrowed. "So your entire race lied to them."

"Yeah, pretty much."

Another sigh. "O-kay." Dib paced back and forth. "Let me guess. They figured out that the Earth was never thrown into their sun in the first place, and they came back to get it...wait, no. There wouldn't be that many ships, then. Hmm. So they...want us for something else? Conquest? Human slaves?" He snapped his fingers. "Ah-hah! They're going to enslave us, right? And make us toil endlessly on their interstellar slushy machines, or something?"

"No..." Zim looked down at his own clenched hands. "The Jackers aren't interested in slaves. They don't even believe in taking workers or captives. They only care about the planet itself. Usually for burning, but sometimes for expansion. Not that I'd care, if this wasn't _my mission_, but either way..."

"Guys, your hour is almost up, by the way. Brain...melting, maybe, and...whatever," the computer chimed in.

"Either way," Zim finished. "They will kill you. They will kill every last one of you."


End file.
